


The Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills Hospital

by icantwritegood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Does he want revenge?, Drugs, PTSD, and better than ever, and is also a continuation, any amount of unhealthy coping mechanisms, bitch he might be, bitch he might do, is Fear back??, so like yea, the same kinda weird thing between ricky and tinsley lol still aint sure what it is, they back, this one is just as dark as the last one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:44:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: And so it seems that some things just don't end, no matter how much you wish they would.





	1. I'm just here to establish an alibi.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In your life, you meet people.  
> Some you never think about again.  
> Some, you wonder what happened to them.  
> There are some that you wonder if they ever think about you.  
> And then there are some you wish you never had to think about again. But you do.”  
> — C.S. Lewis

He could hear it coming already. 

The rushing, swelling water.

And he was still in that room, that white-tiled hell, but instead of a door there was a stairs. Grimy steps that lead up to... to something. He hadn't found out yet. He hadn't managed to get up yet without the water simply pulling him back down, red and frothy, and tasting bitter. He knew it wasn't water, but he didn't want to call it was it was.

Even now, he simply stayed on his hands and knees as the water cascaded down the steps, bright against the tiles, rising impossibly quickly. He scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily, the warm liquid rising past his waist, splashing in his face. Then the hands, the unseen hands, grabbing at his legs, his arms, clawing at him, hard enough to hurt, to leave scratches in his skin. _You killed us. You killed us, Tinsley. You were meant to save us, yet we're all dead_.

His eyes flew open. His heart was racing, as it always was after that dream. Dream? Nightmare. Memories. But he no longer panicked, waking up in a shaking mess, still feeling their hands on him, still convinced his clothes were soaked with blood. It was funny, really. How used you could get to a horrible thing when it happens often enough. He sat up on the couch, burying his head in his hands. Breathe. Just breathe for a minute. The television was on, in a way. _Programmes will resume at 7am_. He reached for the almost-empty bottle on the table, pouring a glass. He didn't care what it was anymore, as long as it burned enough to distract him from his mind.

Tinsley changed the channel, flicking through all the boring monotonous reality shows and crime shows and horror films, until something grabbed his attention. Now, he wasn't looking for something to grab his attention. And also, the thing that grabbed his attention was not exactly appreciated.

"The body was found by a relative at half one this morning," the reporter was saying, as the camera panned over a bloody mess of a sitting room. "The brutality of this murder has shocked the neighborhood, and so far there have been no suspects named..."

Tinsley stared at the screen in stunned silence, mouth hanging open. He was so numb with shock he didn't even notice his glass slipping from his hand to shatter against the floor. That could be cleaned up later. This had to be cleaned up now. He grabbed his phone, checking for any missed calls. Nothing. Not a thing.

He jumped up, grabbing his coat at the last minute. Ricky had been brought in by the cops before, right? Maybe if he went to the station he could find out where Goldsworth currently lived. But hopefully, hopefully it hadn't been Ricky at all.

His journey was cut extremely short. He was just crossing the dark parking lot when he saw him, wandering along the empty road, something clutched tightly in his hand.

"Ricky?" Tinsley hurried towards him, slowing down as he saw the state of the man. "Holy shit. It _was_ you."

"I- I need to be here," muttered the shorter man, streaks of dark blood running down his face. "Alibi. I need an alibi."

"I can't be your fucking alibi, Goldsworth!" He realized he was yelling, the panic rising in his chest. "Remember a few months ago, when the cops asked me if I knew you and I said no? I fucking said I didn't know you so you can't just turn up in my apartment to avoid-" He stopped himself, eyes closed, fists pressed against the sides of his head. "Jesus Christ, just come inside."

Ricky followed numbly, his gaze not really focusing on anything. Tinsley ushered him into the apartment, slamming the door shut and leaning back against it. The shorter man just wandered into the kitchen, sitting at the table, looking at whatever was in his hand. Well, it wasn't like he'd never done so before.

"Why didn't you call me?" demanded Tinsley, following him in. "You know the deal. You _know_ the fucking deal! It's too late to break it now!"

"I forgot," replied Ricky quietly.

"Oh, you forgot, hm?" Tinsley disappeared into the sitting room, coming back with a bottle of whiskey, shakily pouring himself a glass. "You- Do you understand that if you get caught, I get caught?"

"No." Ricky finally looked up at him, a slight frown on his face. "I didn't think you'd care."

The taller man lit up a cigarette. Another bad habit he'd started since... since the events at Pennhurst. "So. So you basically cut back on the murders. You stop ringing. You stop waking me up at all hours. You finally seem to be backing off and then you pull this fuckery?"

"Are you drunk?" Ricky was staring at him, eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. "You _are_ drunk. Why the hell are you drunk?"

"I'm not drunk, Ricky. I'm just having a drink. One. Which is understandable, right now."

"And the smoking. You didn't used to smoke."

"What is this? An intervention?" Tinsley pointed at him with the cigarette. "Explain yourself, Goldsworth."

Ricky snorted, going back to whatever was in his hand. "You're definitely drunk."

"You're putting me on the line here, Ricky. My life. Because you forgot to call me to clean up your mess." He scowled at him. "Since when do you even forget to call me, hm?"

"I just-" Ricky hesitated, biting his lip. "Can I have a drink first?"

Tinsley took a glass from the sink, chucking it at him. "The bottle's there."

"Jesus Christ, dude! Who throws a glass at someone?!"

"Me. When it's you."

Ricky gave him a dry look. "I see you still have your delightful sense of humor."

Tinsley shrugged. "What can I say. You bring out the best in me."

"The guy I killed." Ricky swallowed the whiskey, the liquid burning down his throat. "He... He was one of the doctors at Pennhurst."

The cigarette snapped in his hand, the ashes spraying as the top half hit the floor. "He was _what?_ "

"He was one of the doctors. I saw him, and I recognized him, so I followed him." Ricky took another gulp, eyes squeezed shut as he swallowed. "And I killed him. And then I wanted to find some others, so I-"

"No." Tinsley crossed the room towards him, pointing a finger at him like he was a disobedient dog. "No. Don't fucking do that."

"Don't do what?" 

"Go around killing the doctors, or any people connected to what happened." Tinsley could hear his voice shaking with anger, with rage. "That's what's been keeping you innocent, Goldsworth. The random killings. The lack of connection between them. You start showing a pattern, and you're fucked. We're fucked. You can't-"

"Stop telling me what to do," replied Ricky sharply, getting to his feet. "Stop acting as if you're in charge of me. You're not. _I'm_ in charge of _you_. _I_ tell _you_ what to do."

Tinsley stared at him for a moment in silence, his drink held tightly in his hand. "And what makes you think that, hm? The fact that you say it every now and then?"

"Don't push me, Tinsley. If we are as fucked as you think, what's to stop me from breaking this bottle and carving you open?" Ricky picked up the whiskey bottle, the potential weapon. Everything was a potential weapon, really. "If you're useless to me now, maybe I should just get rid of you. How about that?"

Tinsley swallowed, feeling the cold bottle under his chin, tilting his head back. "You wouldn't- What is that?"

The piece of paper was on the floor, having fallen from Ricky's hand. The shorter man turned to look at it, the bottle dropping to his side.

"It's what I found." He paused. "It's why I didn't ring you."

Tinsley picked it up, unfolding it, skimming the smudged ink. "That's... That's impossible. I don't understand." He threw it onto the table, fingers fidgeting. He wanted a cigarette. "It must be old."

"The reason the ink is smudged is because I killed him while he was writing it." Ricky picked up the letter again, reading it himself, as if to double-check it still said what it said. "That doctor was writing a letter to a doctor. Another doctor. But who starts a letter to a doctor with just 'Doctor'."

"I know what you're implying, Goldsworth. But it doesn't make sense." Tinsley rubbed a hand over his mouth, letting it rest there as he stared at Ricky. "What matters is why it says 'I fear I'm next'."

Ricky gave him a sidelong glance, staying silent.

"Why would it say such a thing, hm?" The taller man moved to stand beside the shorter, leaning on the table, looking down at him. "Why."

Ricky finally looked up at him, an almost guilty look on his face. "Because.. because I killed some already. Just a few."

"How many," demanded Tinsley through gritted teeth.

"Five."

"Five. Five doctors from Pennhurst."

"But those ones are okay," shrugged Ricky. "You cleaned up after-"

"The cleaning doesn't fucking matter if there's a direct link between the victims." Tinsley's voice was cold, clipped. Perhaps the alcohol was giving him some liquid courage. "When was the first one? How long have you been fucking our deal into the ground?"

"Watch it, Tinsley." Ricky glared at him, using the letter to point at him. "I'm not warning you again."

The taller man reluctantly turned away, going back to his drink. It was difficult. It was difficult to be around Ricky, it always had been. But the few months of little to no contact had made him forget exactly what it was like. Ricky was either in his hands or at his throat. There was no middle ground, there never had been.

"Just- Just why did you come here?" he asked, half-turning to look at the shorter man. "Why? What do you want?"

Ricky tucked the letter into his pocket. "I want you to come back to the guy's house."

"Hell no." Tinsley shook his head, laughing into his drink as he took another sip. "You're crazy, you really are."

"And _you're_ a private investigator."

"When I want to be."

"Well I need you to be." Ricky gave him a warning look. "And don't say no. For your own good, don't say it."

Tinsley watched him over the rim of his glass. What would happen if he did say no, he wondered. Would Goldsworth actually hurt him? He wasn't quite sure. "Fine. But we'll need to wait till morning until the police have left."

* * *

 

Ricky sat on the arm of the couch, reading and re-reading the letter. _Doctor, I fear I am next. I have left-_ And then nothing. Just a smudged ending as Ricky had jammed the knife into his neck. He glanced up as Tinsley entered the room, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, muttering something to himself. He smoked a lot now. And drank a lot, too. He was more irritable, more erratic. He was different. Well, he had to be, in a way. No one who had entered Pennhurst had walked out a-okay. Not even he himself.

Ricky found himself jumping at every shadow, at every flickering light or loud noise. It was like whenever he tried to relax, a warning blared in his head. _You can't rest here, there are enemies nearby!_  His memory was still in bits, fragmented, torn apart by whatever Fear had stuck into him. And so he found himself thinking more and more about hurting those who had hurt him. Making them feel what he had felt. So he did so. He just hadn't expected Tinsley to react with such unbridled rage.

The PI was the only person who ever dared talk to him like that, who ever dared scold him, chastise him in such a way. And in a way, Ricky had missed it. He had missed whatever had been growing, churning between them. Whatever it had been, it had burned, but not in a good way. It was the type of heat that scalded, branded, made your eyes water just by looking at it. Yet he still yearned for it.

"Stop reading that stupid letter," said Tinsley around his cigarette, running a hand through his scruffy hair. "Really, how many times can you read nine words."

Ricky just stared at him, a flat look on his face. 

"I'd say if you read it again, it'd drive you insane," said the PI dryly. "But it's a bit late for that."

"Shut up." He got off the couch, moving to the window. "Can we go yet?"

Tinsley glanced at his watch, frowning. "I guess. But we'll be cutting it close."

"I don't care. I need to move." He gestured at Tinsley to hurry up. "Come on, dude! Hurry hurry hurry."

"Oh my God, shut up." He picked his keys up off the table, tossing them to Ricky. "You drive."

"Huh? Why?"

"I may be a tiny bit drunk."

Ricky frowned at him as he passed by, holding the cold keys in his hand. "Tinsley... are you okay?"

The PI stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame as he turned to look at him, an eyebrow arched. "What are you talking about?"

"You're drunk." He took out his phone, glancing at the time. "At half ten in the morning."

There was a silence for a moment. "Yeah. And you murder people for entertainment. So if you're trying to start a Jeremy Kyle situation here, I think I know who should be Jeremy."

* * *

 

The house was massive. Whatever those Pennhurst doctors were being paid, it must've been a hell of a lot. The front door was left swinging open, its lock bust from what he could only assume had been Ricky's entry. Tinsley poked his head through the crime scene tape criss-crossed over the doorway, gesturing at the shorter man to back off slightly.

"Hello?" he called.

No response. He ducked under the tape, into the house. He heard Ricky enter behind him, slowly closing over the door, his sleeve pulled over his hand. Maybe the guy wasn't as naive as he sometimes acted. 

"So what do you want me to look for here?" asked Tinsley, turning to look at him, hands on his hips. His voice echoed in the gaping hallway. "And keep in mind I'm doing this for free."

"You're doing this because if you don't, I'll take off your head." Ricky moved past him into the sitting room, glancing around. "Nice clean up."

"Better than me?" Tinsley followed him in, throwing him a wry smile as he moved to the set of drawers against the wall. "C'mon, then. Start searching for, uh, whatever the hell you're looking for."

"I don't know what I'm looking for." Ricky wandered up the stairs, his footsteps echoing against the walls. "Hey, Tinsley?"

"What?" the PI called back, appearing at the sitting room door a few minutes later. "What is it?"

Ricky hesitated before turning away, continuing on. "Nothing."

"You want me to come up with you."

He paused on the stairs, glancing back down at the PI. "Would that be stupid?"

"Incredibly so. Bye." Tinsley vanished back into the sitting room, whistling a jolly tune as he continued his own search. 

Ricky swallowed, looking up at the landing that looped around the entire hallway. It was flooded with the dim grey light from outside, dull and depressing. He quietly moved around it, gently pushing open the doors as he passed by. A bedroom, a bathroom, another bedroom, an office. He stopped at this one, slowly opening the door fully to stare in. The desk sat solitary in the middle of the room, in front of the large single window that looked out onto the garden. A wooden board was standing beside the desk, and on it was pictures. Pictures that made him feel icy cold.

"Tinsley!" he yelled, not taking his eyes from the board. "Tinsley, get up here!"

He heard the man's footsteps bound up the stairs, the PI appearing in the doorway, breathless. "What? Did you find something?"

"Look at this," he said, pointing at the board. "It's... It's us."

Tinsley approached the board, his mouth slowly falling open. "Holy fuck."

Pictures of them covered it. Pictures of them completely unaware, just in a car, or on the street, or buying something. And what's more was a call log, showing every call between them since Pennhurst, and even before. Some of Ricky's sticky notes were in a bag, pinned beside a nonchalant picture of him taken through wire fencing. 

"These are all recent," muttered Tinsley, taking down a picture of him leaving a house, looking extremely shady. "Fuck. This is me leaving one of your messes."

Ricky took down his corresponding one. "Oh shit. Oh shit, dude. Look at me! I'm covered in fucking blood!"

Tinsley began tearing down the pictures, stuffing them into his pockets. "Help me, you idiot! Quick!"

"Wait, wait, slow down!" Ricky pushed him away, ignoring the dark glare. "There's a map."

He unpinned it, moving to the desk and flattening it against the smooth wood. A blue marker traced a path around the city, a red one traced another. Every now and then they crossed each other, and a black pen circled these intersections. Tinsley stood looking over the shorter man's shoulder, breathing heavily. They were being tracked. They were being followed. Tinsley recognized some of the places he'd been to, but his red line mixed with Ricky's blue before disappearing off the map together in a purple mixture. 

"I- We haven't left this city together. Ever." Ricky frowned in confusion, flipping the map. "Where's the rest of it?"

"Why?" Tinsley stepped back, suddenly icy cold and fiery hot at the same time. "Why? Why are they following us? What if the cops saw all this shit, Ricky?"

"I don't know," replied Ricky in a hoarse whisper. "I can't- NO!"

Tinsley whipped around to see what he was looking at, his eyes scanning the garden outside. "What? What is it?"

"No no no no." Ricky was hyperventilating, clutching at Tinsley's arm, tight enough to hurt. "He can't- I can't-"

Tinsley stared at him, frowning. "What? You can't what?"

"How? It can't be I saw him fall I saw him fall." Ricky stumbled to the board, punching a hole clean through it. "I _saw_ him fucking fall!"

Tinsley jumped forwards, pulling him away from the board. "Woah, Ricky, stop! Stop it!"

He managed to catch hold of the man's wrists before he could turn the board into a pile of splinters. Ricky shoved him back against the desk, still shouting, attempting to free his bleeding hands.

"Ricky, stop it!" The taller man suddenly drew him into a tight hug, feeling Ricky immediately melt, sobbing into his chest. "Stop it. You'll hurt yourself."

Ricky didn't respond, staying where he was, still shaking with sobs. "I _saw_ him. In the garden."

"Who? Who did you see?"

"I saw Fear."

Tinsley pushed the man back, keeping his hands on his shoulders as he scanned his face. "You saw Fear. In the garden."

"I did. I _did_ , I swear!"

"Just now."

"Stop looking at me like I'm stupid!" snapped Ricky, shoving the taller man back against the desk, hard enough for its contents to rattle. "I saw him. I did."

"I- Look what you've done to your hands," said Tinsley suddenly, noticing the blood across the back of the shorter man's hands. "Jesus Christ, Goldsworth."

"It's fine." Ricky hugged himself, pointedly avoiding looking out the window. "Can we... Can we just go."

Tinsley watched him warily. "Yeah. Yeah, if you really want. Just let me get some of this stuff first."

He moved back to the board, quietly taking down the photos, and any other incriminating evidence. He could hear Ricky pacing the floor behind him, muttering to himself. It was highly irritating, but the PI knew better than to confront him right now. Just like that, it was back to walking on eggshells. 

He finally finished, turning to find Ricky staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing," said Ricky, turning around and heading for the door. "C'mon. Let's just get out of here."

He gave the room a quick once-over before following. Even though he very much doubted Ricky had seen a dead man skipping around the gardens of a random house, he still found the board to be extremely unsettling. But he was used to being watched. Ricky had been watching him for a long time now, after all. It was Ricky himself who wasn't used to be watched, and Tinsley wasn't sure if he wanted to know how he'd react to the sensation.

Then again, it didn't seem he had a choice. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/NC_his0-SKw?t=4  
> boom credits music


	2. Palpable Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tinsley and Ricky are brought on a delightful treasure hunt that reawakens things they really wish would just stay asleep.

Ricky sat where he was, back pressed against the wall, against something solid. It made him feel more real. It kept him grounded. Yet he couldn't stop his mind wandering to Fear, casually crossing the garden, his torn lab coat flapping behind him. The memory still made him feel physically sick, his stomach churning. Fear was still out there. He could taste it. He could feel it. The world wasn't safe now. The map proved it. He hadn't been to half of the places his blue line crossed; the park, the old movie rental place, the library. He hadn't been to any of them. He traced the blue line, until it mixed with the red, and left the map towards the west. But where did it go? 

The sudden gasp of breath made him jump, getting to his feet. Tinsley had rolled off the couch where he'd fallen asleep, still breathing erratically, reaching for the nearest bottle of alcohol. Ricky watched him in silence, unsure of what to do, what to say. Should he even say anything at all? Tinsley crossed to the window, shakily lighting a cigarette. The lighter flickered on and off, not catching, until the PI suddenly flung it across the room with a loud curse.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine!" shouted Tinsley, basically throwing himself at the window, hands pressed against the cool glass. "I'm fine, for fuck's sake, leave me alone!"

Ricky sat back down in silence, turning his attention back to the map. "Nightmares?"

Tinsley didn't reply, just turning to look at him. "I- No. I said I'm fine, alright?"

Ricky looked at him over the map, an eyebrow raised. "Okay."

"Why are you still looking at that stupid thing?" 

"I want to know where it goes." Ricky shrugged. "It just ends."

Tinsley gave him a flat look, the unlit cigarette still in his hand. "Just google it, Goldsworth. It goes west. Probably into Ohio or something."

"Not the map, idiot. The lines." He poked the map, the paper crinkling as he did so. "It says here that we meet at the old video rental place. Remember that store? It closed like, five years ago."

"You're thinking into this too much." Tinsley snatched up the map, crossing the room into the kitchen. "It doesn't mean anything, really. The lines don't definitely represent us."

"But they _do_ ," insisted Ricky, hurrying after him. "Where are you going with that?"

"The trash." 

"Hey, no!" Ricky suddenly grabbed him by the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards with enough force the PI stumbled to the floor. "Give me it."

"What the fuck, Goldsworth?" Tinsley propped himself up on his elbows, glaring up at him. "Relax, would you?"

"Give me the map!"

"Fine! Jesus!" Tinsley pushed himself to one knee, gingerly handing the piece of paper up to him, like offering a piece of meat to a particularly hungry tiger. "If it's _that_ important to you, fine."

Ricky snatched the map from him, storming back into the sitting room. "Come in here."

"I don't want to," replied Tinsley sharply, getting to his feet. "Asshole."

A prolonged silence followed. He turned to see Ricky just standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching, the map crumpled in his fist. The PI stared back, swallowing. He wished the guy would show some sort of facial expression, some sort of emotion. Usually, a blank face meant a violent eruption soon to come. 

"Look, man," said Tinsley quietly, raising a slow hand towards him. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

This seemed to satisfy him. Ricky continued on into the sitting room, hearing the PI follow a few minutes later. Once again with a drink in his hand. Whatever, it wasn't any of his business. Tinsley stayed on the opposite side of the room, against the wall, watching him warily. It was a wonder to him, really, how often he forgot what Ricky was. If he didn't stop aggravating him, the guy could just snap. Just like that.

"I think we should follow the lines," said Ricky simply, placing the map down. "Just to make sure."

"Make sure of what?"

"If it _is_ us."

"And how does that make sense?"

"Well, maybe we'll find an answer or two," replied Ricky with a shrug. 

Tinsley shook his head, placing his empty glass down on the windowsill beside him. "No. That doesn't make sense. The smartest thing we could do is ignore that stupid thing and just... and just go to the cops."

"I can't do that, Tinsley. And we definitely can't do it together."

"Then I'll go."

Ricky gave him a long look, almost suspicious. "And show them what? The photos from the board?"

The PI paused. "Well, no. I guess I couldn't do that."

"No, you can't." He got to his feet, crossing the room towards him, noticing how the taller man visibly bristled at his approach. "I want the photos."

"What? Why?"

"Why do _you_ want them?"

"Because I'm more careful than you, Goldsworth," replied Tinsley firmly. 

"Or you want to run down to the station and hand them over to your old police buddies, hm?" Ricky searched the taller man's eyes closely. "And get rid of me, is that it?"

"You're being ridiculous," said the PI. "They're just safer here."

"Hand them over before I hurt you, Tinsley." 

The PI hesitated. Just for a moment. And in that moment he once again found himself wondering exactly what would happen if he pushed Ricky just that bit further. "Fine. They're beside my laptop in my room."

* * *

 _Police Station_.

Tinsley stood looking at the building for a while, the rain pattering against his hood, staining the small list in his hand. He liked the station. He used to associate happy memories with it. Before he'd fucked everything up. Before he'd met Ricky. And now there was just a painful wistfulness in his chest, knowing he couldn't get those days back. Never again. Stupid nostalgia. He wished it was a person so he could punch it in the face. Even as he moved up the steps his movements felt slow, heavy, like his body was telling him to turn back. He pushed on, folding up the list of places from the map and sticking it in his pocket.

The reception area was nice and toasty warm. The cop sitting behind the desk was unfamiliar; the place had to move on, even without him, he guessed. But he had to focus. Why would Fear - if it _was_ him doing all this - want him to come to the station? It had to do with Pennhurst. There was no way it would be anything else. 

"Hey, Tinsley! Where've you been, hm?" One of his old coworkers hopped out from behind the desk, jerking him from his thoughts. "You come by for this?"

Tinsley blinked, looking at the envelope in the cop's hand. "I- Uh, yeah. Yeah. Who dropped this in?"

The man shrugged. "Just some guy. Said it was for you, that you'd come by to get it."

The PI smiled at him, taking the envelope. "Thanks, Ned. You catch what he looked like?"

Ned frowned. "Don't you know who dropped it off?"

He paused. "Uh, no, yeah. Of course. Thanks again, man."

"No problem!"

Tinsley unfolded the piece of paper on the way out, ducking underneath the overhanging concrete arch. His fingers trembled as he flipped through the lists of names, each stamped with a big red 'deceased'. The sour taste of bile rose up his throat as his eyes scanned the names and faces of the patients who'd died at Pennhurst. He placed a hand against the cold wall to steady himself, trying not to look overly suspicious as people passed in and out of the station. All these patients, dead. The patients he was meant to save. He was meant to have _helped_ them, instead he had condemned them. He could feel it, the overwhelming panic that he'd been keeping so tightly bottled. It was flooding his lungs, drowning him. 

Tinsley shoved the pages into his coat pocket, hurrying down the damp steps, not even feeling the icy rain on his face.

* * *

 _The Park_.

It was empty, due to the miserable weather. And empty playgrounds were always strange. Like seeing an airport completely devoid of people, or a school emptied of students. Ricky moved through it, feeling the damp leaves mushing under his feet. There had to be some reason Fear had sent him here. There had to be something. He whipped around as one of the swings squeaked in the wind, the row of them moving just out of sync. He swallowed, turning back to the tunnel slide, ducking to look up it. There was something hanging up the top, wrapped in brown paper. 

"What are you doing, creep?"

Ricky jumped, hitting his head off the top of the slide. "Jesus fucking- Go away!"

The group of teenagers cycled over on their bikes, stopping on the opposite side of the metal fence. "What's your deal, dude? You're being a freak."

Ricky paused; he probably did look a tiny bit weird right now. "None of your business. Go away."

"You a pedophile or something?"

"Fuck no!" He may kill people on a weekly basis, but he wasn't a total creep. "I just left something here."

"Your binoculars?" The kids snickered. "Would they not be in the bushes over there?"

"You're lucky there's a fence here, you little dicks."

"So are the kids." More snickering.

Ricky's hands clenched into fists by his sides. It was like talking to a bunch of little Tinsleys. "Fuck off!"

After a while they got bored, and thankfully cycled off down the path, further into the park. Ricky climbed the ladder to finally retrieve the paper package, the weight of it oddly familiar in his hands. He unwrapped it, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the knife. Tinsley's kitchen knife. That he had used to- to- He hesitated, trying to piece together his memories. He could picture the knife buried in a wall, but after that it was blank. He flipped it in his hands, legs swinging over the edge of the damp wooden platform he sat on. It took him a moment to realize that even though he may have gotten away with hanging around an empty playground, he wouldn't be able to explain why he was sitting beside the slide with a kitchen knife as easily. He quickly dropped to the ground, wrapping up the knife in the wet brown paper. He had to move on to the next place, anyway.

* * *

 _Old cement factory_.

Although the walk to this one had been a bit of a trek, it was surprisingly easy to find what he was meant to find. And once again it pulled at his heart, hard enough to make his eyes water. His could see it in the center of the empty warehouse, shining among the dust and random debris on the floor. He crossed the cold room, the door echoing as it creaked shut behind him. His old badge gleamed in the dim light coming in through the cracked windows, and although he kneeled down beside it, he couldn't bring himself to touch it. It was too real, a memory he could hold in his hands, and if he picked it up he wasn't sure if he would be able to put it back down.

"It could be yours again."

Tinsley froze, his fingers inches from the badge. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the owner of the voice. He knew exactly who it was - the cool, unemotional tone was unmistakable - yet he couldn't see him.

Tinsley swallowed. "How?"

His voice was a solitary echo. Maybe he'd imagined it. How could a dead man speak, after all? He turned back to the badge, biting his lip hard as he slowly picked it up. He'd left it at the station, the day he'd quit. He'd had no other choice, in the end. And he'd never thought about going back. Going back would only be possible if Goldsworth was removed from the equation. _That_ was something he'd thought about often. Very often. But he could never seem to bring himself to do it.

Tinsley straightened up, the badge still in his hand. Where it had belonged for so long. He should put it down, throw it away, burn it. Do something to get rid of it. Instead he tucked it into his pocket, taking out his cigarettes and shakily lighting one up. He gave one last look around the entirely empty warehouse, the light from outside filtering through the floating dust, the faint tapping of the rain on the tin roof being the only sound. He left the place with a lot more urgency than he'd entered.

* * *

 

 _Closed video rental_. 

Ricky wandered the aisles, his thoughts racing, his hands clutching the items in his pockets. The knife and the book. He'd found the book in the library, the crime section of course. Fear had a strange sense of humor, he supposed. It was more of a journal than a book. And he should have thrown it out a long time ago. He never should have even started it, yet it was satisfying to flip through it, to see all the names of those he'd killed. It wasn't even a journal, he guessed. It was a to-do list. He'd write the person's name, and then cross it off when it was done. Nice and easy. Tinsley would flip if he found out about it. Ricky frowned, a hand on one of the empty racks where hundreds of videos once stood. Why the hell did he care what Tinsley would think? He didn't. He _didn't_. 

"There's a DVD over here."

Ricky turned to see the PI across the dark shop, the rain on his jacket shining in the streetlight from outside. "Really? They must've left a few."

"No." Tinsley picked the case up, turning it in his hands. "There isn't a speck of dust on this thing. And the rest of the place is covered."

He was right. "So is that it?"

The PI suddenly looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Is it what?"

"Have you not been finding stuff?" asked Ricky dubiously.

There was a pause. "No. I've just been wandering around like an idiot. Have you?"

Ricky stared at him. He couldn't show him the journal. Tinsley would... would what? And if he showed him the knife, he'd probably start asking questions. "No. I just thought one of us would've found _something_."

Tinsley shook his head, moving along the vacant aisles towards him. "It's like I said. Those lines on that map don't mean anything."

"Maybe." Ricky peered at the DVD. "It's not called anything?"

"No. The disc is just blank as well."

"Do you think it's for us?"

Tinsley gave him a sidelong look. "Why would it be for us?"

"Maybe this is what we're supposed to find," said Ricky quickly. "We should watch it."

"I don't think so. We should just leave it."

"But what if it's-"

"If it _is_ from Fear, why do you even want to watch it?" demanded Tinsley, so sharply the shorter man withdrew his hand from the case. "You miss him or something?"

"What? No! I'm just... I'm just curious." Ricky followed him across the shop, hurrying to keep up with Tinsley's long strides. "Slow down, dude!"

"What's your issue, hm? You keep 'seeing' Fear everywhere, you won't stop talking about him, and now you want to think he's leaving you fucking presents or something?" Tinsley turned to look at him, the DVD still in his hand. "If you miss Fear so damn much, why don't you just kill yourself and go join him, hm?"

"I don't _miss_ him, Tinsley." Ricky glowered up at him. "But I'm sorry if the thought makes you so insecure."

The taller man narrowed his eyes at him. "You're the one who just won't accept that he's fucking dead."

"That's because I saw him."

"Yeah. Sure."

"Why don't you want to believe me, hm?" Ricky pulled his arm to stop him from walking away, the jacket wet in his hand. "Stop walking away when I'm talking to you."

"He's dead because I fucking pushed him off a building!" shouted Tinsley. "To save your stupid ass! Which I very much regret now, by the way."

"You're a real dick, Tinsley." Ricky shoved past him, taking the DVD as he did so. "A real piece of work."

"Give me that."

Ricky stopped at the door, one hand on the foggy glass as he turned to look back at him. "Why would you want it if you think he's dead?"

A silence. He froze as Tinsley suddenly closed the small space between them, raising a hand to rest on the side of Ricky's face. It was gentle, the sort of touch Ricky was not exactly used to. He swallowed under the intensity of the PI's gaze. He had been hoping that Tinsley had forgotten about... about whatever it was that happened when he touched him. It really was by far his biggest weakness, he knew it was. He was pretty sure that if he was murdering someone and they touched him in such a way, he'd immediately skip out the door without a second thought.

"I need you to work with me, Ricky," said Tinsley in a quiet voice, the shorter man's eyes glued to his. "I'm doing all this because you asked me to. So when I ask you for this one thing, this one little thing, it would be quite unfair if you said no."

Ricky's eyelids fluttered as the PI's fingers traced along his jaw. "I just-" His voice caught in his throat as the taller man suddenly tucked his fingers under Ricky's chin, tilting his head up so that he had to look directly at him. 

"Just this one thing, Ricky. For me."

Eventually, Ricky nodded, turning his head away as he handed the case over to him. "Here."

"Thank you." Tinsley took it, stepping around and out the shattered window, into the light persistent rain. "I'll see you around."

God, it was sickening. Ricky stayed where he was for a moment, leaning against the door, running a hand through his hair as frantically as his thoughts ran through his head. The next time Tinsley tried that, he'd take the guy's fingers off. He had to, or else what control did he have? Basically none. He slipped out of the window, pulling his damp hood up. He'd probably hear from Tinsley tomorrow, about whatever was on that DVD.  Or he could just go straight to his apartment and find out himself.

"Yeah, I'm gonna do that," said Ricky to himself, heading off down the street.


End file.
